


The Choices We Make

by HarmonyLover



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows AU, F/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, The Deathly Hallows, post-Final Battle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonyLover/pseuds/HarmonyLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all have to make choices. One choice here or there can change everything. During the Horcrux hunt and in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, the members of the Golden Trio are forced to assess the choices they have made, and whether love really can conquer all obstacles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Choices We Make

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Warner Brothers, et al. I write these stories purely for entertainment purposes; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: I must thank Witherwings01 (or Wing Commander Witherwings) for the constant encouragement regarding this story. Without it, this tale (even the beginnings of it) might never have been published.

**The Choices We Make - Chapter 1**

 

Harry stared at Ron, still trying to take in the magnitude of the vision he had seen, the vision Voldemort had created out of Ron’s worst fears. His best friend looked back at him with shame, jealousy, and sadness warring in his eyes.

“Is it true?” Harry asked him quietly, though he didn’t really need to ask. “You’ve always been afraid she was in love with me?”

Ron sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice hoarse.

“Ron, after you left . . . she cried for a week,” Harry said slowly, knowing how important this was for Ron to hear. He wanted Ron to know that he didn’t need to worry, wanted him to know just how safe he was – how happy he would be – in loving Hermione. “Probably longer, only she didn’t want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. She . . . I hadn’t any idea how to comfort her. She loves you.”

Ron nodded, relief spreading over his features and a tiny flicker of hope shimmering in his eyes. As he took in the expression on Harry’s face, however, the relief was replaced by shock. Harry was usually much, much more careful about revealing his emotions, but even Ron could see what that speech had cost him. Harry was, for that one moment, completely unguarded because it was Hermione they were speaking of, Hermione’s heart and love that they were holding between them.

“Bloody hell,” Ron swore softly. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? She loves me, but you love her.”

Ron saw the muscles in Harry’s throat working before he gave up and simply turned away, putting his head in his hands. Ron felt as though someone had pulled a rug from beneath his feet. Two seconds ago he was the one in need of reassurance and comforting, and now he wanted nothing more than to give some kind of comfort to Harry, who clearly knew that his feelings for their female best friend were not returned.

Ron got up and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You didn’t comfort her because you didn’t trust yourself,” he whispered.

Harry shook his head, confirming Ron’s statement. “I couldn’t,” he choked out. “She loves you, Ron; it’s always been you for her. She thinks of me like a brother, and I’ve always tried to be that – to let her be my sister, be my family. I – it tore my heart out every time I heard her crying, but I was afraid that if I tried to help her, I would destroy all the boundaries we’d set up for ourselves. I couldn’t do that to either of you. Aside from one dance we had in the tent that actually made her smile, I didn’t try to make it better. We couldn’t talk about it. With you gone . . .”

Harry fell silent again, and Ron could tell from the trembling in his neck and shoulders that he couldn’t say any more.

“I do love her,” Ron said fervently. It had to be said; if nothing else, Harry deserved to know that. “More than anything, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry answered, his voice still shaking. “I’m grateful for that.” He turned around, and Ron was struck by the conviction and determination in his eyes. “That’s why we’re going to finish him. I want the two of you to get your happy ending.”

Harry stood up and began walking, presumably back to the tent and Hermione. A chill crept over Ron as he stared after Harry and thought about what his best mate had said.

_We may get our happy ending – but what does that mean for him?_  

* * *

 

“I think I’ve know for a while now, and I think you’ve known too,” Harry said, giving Hermione a sad smile.

He saw her answer in the tears that fell down her face, in the painful twist of her mouth as she looked at him. She had suspected, had guessed, hadn’t wanted to admit what her prodigious intellect was telling her, but she had known.

“I’ll go with you,” Hermione said desperately, her voice shaking as she walked closer to him, and the small sob that escaped her lips broke Harry’s heart.

Harry shook his head and drew Hermione into his arms. He could feel her tears wetting his shoulder, and he tried to convey (with his arms, with his body, with his magic, with his touch on her back) just how dear she was to him. He closed his eyes briefly, filling his nostrils with the scent of her, letting himself feel her for the last time.

As Hermione hugged him harder, Harry opened his eyes and gave Ron a long, level look over her shoulder.

_Take care of her_ , he pleaded silently. Ron met his gaze, and Harry saw the understanding there. Ron would love Hermione for both of them.

He let Hermione go, gently. “Kill the snake,” he reminded her, reminded them both. “Then it’s just him, and we can beat him.”

With one last look at the two best friends who had been his family for the last seven years, with one last image of the girl he loved, he turned and descended the stairs. All would be well.

* * *

 

Curses and hexes flew fast and thick as Ron and Hermione struggled toward the Great Hall, pursued by a furious Lucius Malfoy.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as Ron turned to fire a Reductor curse.

Lucius raised his wand and snarled, pointing straight at Hermione. His eyes were crazed, his blond hair flying around him as though it was possessed of its own free will.

Hermione was far, far too close to him.

Ron knew he only had one chance. Without a second thought, he made his choice.

* * *

 

There was a profound stillness in the Great Hall as everyone stared at the body on the floor. Several moments went by in which the smallest sound might have been heard. When it became apparent that Voldemort truly was dead, the cheering erupted with a crash that seemed to shake the very stones beneath their feet.

Harry still stood with two wands in his hand, scarcely believing yet that he had won, that Dumbledore’s careful planning of seven years had come to fruition. He, Harry, had died and returned to defeat the Dark Lord. The thought of his walk through the forest and his conversation with Dumbledore was almost enough to make him weep. He had won. With the help of Dumbledore, his parents, Sirius, Lupin, Ron, and Hermione, he had won. They had all won.

The crowd suddenly surrounded him, individuals shaking his hand, patting his back, hugging him, crying their thanks. Neville, Luna, George, Molly and Arthur, Professor McGonagall, Cho, Seamus, Bill and Fleur – everyone he had ever known, it seemed, was somewhere in that crowd.

Slowly, however, Harry realized that the two faces he wanted to see the most had not appeared. He had been so focused on Voldemort, and so dazed after the battle was over, that he had not missed Ron and Hermione until this moment.

_Where were they?_ They had disappeared before to destroy the Hufflepuff Cup, but they had come back. Why weren’t they here? How had he overlooked their absence? Harry was suddenly frantic.

Spying Luna near him, amid all of the celebrating wizards, he grabbed her arm. She looked at him in surprise.

“Luna,” he said urgently, speaking near her ear so that she could hear him, “I need a distraction. Ron and Hermione aren’t here, and I have to find them. I have to get out of here unnoticed.”

Her eyes widened in understanding, and she nodded and smiled. Working her way over to one of the windows, she suddenly cried “Look! A blibbering humdinger!”

She caught the attention of about half the crowd, who immediately moved toward the windows to see the unusual creature. In the middle of the shifting masses, Harry managed to pull on his Invisibility Cloak and move quietly out of the hall.

In the hallways and on the stairways of Hogwarts, the devastation of the battle became immediately apparent. Sorrow overwhelmed Harry as he saw the number of dead and wounded who lay strewn about the castle. Simultaneously, his anxiety became almost unbearable. He began to run under the cloak, searching every person he passed for the faces of his two friends.

He had gone through the long hallway outside of the Great Hall, skirting collapsed walls and portions of ceiling that littered the floor, along with decimated suits of armor, splintered desks, and endless other objects that had been blown apart in the fighting. It was when he reached the top of the first staircase that he saw them.

They were on the landing.

All that registered in Harry’s mind before he was hurtling down the stairs was the image of Ron and Hermione tangled together, Ron’s red hair spilling over top of Hermione’s thick curls. The next moment he was down on his knees beside them. He carefully pulled Ron off of Hermione, turning him over to reveal staring eyes.

“No! NO! Ron!” Harry cried. He felt frantically for a pulse in his friend’s neck, even though he already knew it was futile. He wrapped his arms around Ron and sobbed, rocking back and forth in his grief. Ron was dead. His best mate, his partner in mischief and rule breaking, his loyal friend who had saved his life during the hunt for the Horcruxes. He couldn’t bear it. It wasn’t supposed to be Ron; it was supposed to be him. He was supposed to be the one to die…

After what seemed like endless minutes of pain, Harry opened his eyes to look at Ron again, tears still streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, Ron, I’m so sorry.”

He was abruptly reminded of Hermione when he caught sight of her abundant hair flowing over the floor. He set Ron’s body down gently, closing his friend’s eyelids, and then knelt swiftly beside Hermione. In contrast to Ron, her eyes were closed, but she was incredibly still. Praying to whatever forces were out there that Hermione might be spared, Harry felt for a heartbeat, placing his fingers gently on Hermione’s neck.

If she did not live, the life he had won a few minutes before was going to be unbearably empty.

He pressed his ear to her chest. For a moment there was nothing, but then he heard a beat. At the same moment, her artery jumped lightly under his fingers.

Then there was another beat.

And another.

They were erratic and faint, but they were there.

“Hermione, oh God, Hermione,” Harry gasped. “Stay with me, please –”

He gathered her carefully up into his arms, holding her tightly, and twirled on his heel. With a loud CRACK!, he appeared in the middle of St. Mungo’s.

“Help!” he shouted, heedless of the stares turned in his direction. Two healers hurried toward him, their faced registering surprise when they recognized him

“Mr. Potter!” one of them exclaimed. “What - ?”

“This is Hermione Granger,” Harry cut in. “She has been injured in a battle; she may have been hit by a curse; I don’t know. Please, you have to help her.”

“Bring her over here, Mr. Potter,” the second healer said. Harry followed her over to a bed and set Hermione down slowly, making sure he didn’t hurt her head and neck. The first healer took him aside as the second began to work quickly over Hermione, checking vital signs and looking for damage.

“Mr. Potter, what’s happened?”

“There has been a massive battle at Hogwarts,” Harry said quickly. “You need to send as many people there as you can; there are many who are injured. We need all the help we can get.”

“I’ll see to it at once,” the healer promised. She suddenly looked at him again, startled. “You _apparated_ here from Hogwarts?”

Harry was momentarily confused. “Yes. Why?”

“No one is supposed to be able to apparate in and out of Hogwarts, Mr. Potter. You were very lucky. If you had run up against the enchantments that normally keep that from happening, you might both have been killed.”

Harry cursed under his breath. “Hermione’s told me that so many times; I should have remembered.”

“You’re here now, but don’t try to go back that way. Take the Floo network. If the magic around Hogwarts has been so disrupted, I can only imagine how bad the fight must have been,” the healer said. A frightened look came over her face.

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named?”

“Dead,” Harry said shortly. He didn’t want to contemplate Voldemort’s death again; Ron had died while he was fighting Voldemort. He hadn’t been there to save Ron because he had been fighting Voldemort. Hermione was injured, perhaps fatally, because he hadn’t been there to prevent it.

“Thank Merlin,” the healer breathed. She hurried off to let others know that help was needed at Hogwarts. Harry turned back to the bed where the second healer was still examining Hermione.

“Will she be all right?” Harry asked, his voice thick.

“I don’t know yet, Mr. Potter. Whatever has happened to her has put her in a coma. Until we know more about how her body and brain have been damaged, it’s almost impossible to know if she will wake up,” the healer said quietly. Her eyes were sorrowful; she could see how much the young wizard in front of her was suffering. “Give us some more time.”

Harry swallowed and nodded; his throat felt as though he was suffocating. He bent over Hermione and took her hand, placing his lips close to her ear.

“Hermione,” he whispered, “I have to go back. Just for a little while, I have to go back, but after that I will be right here beside you until you wake up.  Don’t leave me, love.”

His voice broke on the last word; he had never called her that aloud before, and who knew if she could hear it now? He brushed her hair away from her forehead and kissed it, squeezed her hand tightly, then stepped away from the bed.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said to the healer, who nodded kindly. Harry found the nearest chimney and was gone.

He landed in Delores Umbridge’s old office, and his numbed brain somehow managed to note the irony in that. He immediately made his way back to the stairway where Ron’s body still lay. Looking around, he noticed the body of Lucius Malfoy nearby. That was puzzling; the last time he had seen Lucius and Narcissa they were searching frantically for Draco, not fighting. He carefully pulled his friend’s body to a slightly more sheltered spot on the landing. He arranged Ron’s limbs and placed Ron’s wand in his folded hands. He would have liked to bring Ron back to the Great Hall himself, but given Ron’s taller height and his own fatigue, he wasn’t at all sure he could manage it. Picking up his Invisibility Cloak, which had been left behind in his hurried departure to St. Mungo’s, he wrapped himself in it and hurried back to the Great Hall. He felt tired, so tired, but he still had things that needed to be done.

Entering the Great Hall, he found his way to Minerva McGonagall before pulling off his cloak.  She put her hand to her heart as he appeared.

“Goodness, Mr. Potter, you startled me!” she said. Then her quick eyes saw his tears and his weariness. Her expression suddenly became as gentle as Harry had ever seen it. “What’s happened?”

“Professor,” he said, trying to conquer the ache in his chest and the swelling in his throat so he could speak, “Ron’s been – he’s –“

He stopped. He couldn’t finish, but Minerva understood. She closed her eyes in sadness.

“Hermione’s hurt – badly,” Harry continued, managing to find his voice. “I took her to St. Mungo’s and asked them to send healers to help us here.”

“Thank you, Harry,” McGonagall said, her eyes suspiciously bright. She reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Harry realized that it was the first time she had used his given name in conversation since Dumbledore’s death, and he took it for the compliment it was. He bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“I want to tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” he said, “but Professor, they will need someone with them. Ron’s – body – is on the landing, on the staircase at the end of the hall – and I need to talk to Dumbledore. I still have things to finish for him, and I want – I want to be with Hermione, Professor. ” His voice was ragged and his breathing harsh while he spoke, but he kept going. “Ron isn’t here to be with her, and neither are her parents. They’ll have to be found. They’re in Australia, she . . .” he trailed off, not quite knowing how to explain. “I should be with her.”

Minerva’s eyebrows had gone up at the mention of Dumbledore, and a sudden understanding had suffused her face when Harry spoke of Hermione, but Harry had not noticed her facial expressions as he struggled with his grief. When he met her gaze again, she merely nodded. “I’ll be happy to help, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley was a member of my house, too. Lead the way.”

Harry worked his way through the crowded, Professor McGonagall at his elbow. Between her formidable presence and Harry’s sober expression, those who noticed them left them alone. They found Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in a corner of the hall, surrounded by George, Percy, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur. Mrs. Weasley sprang to her feet when she saw Harry, arms outstretched.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, taking him in her arms. “Oh, Harry, dear, you were wonderful!”

Harry felt tears sliding down his face again as she embraced him. Molly was like a mother to him. She had taken him into her family, and he had been unable to save her son. He slowly pulled back from the warm circle of her arms and looked into her face, taking her hands.

“Mrs. Weasley,” he said quietly. Her face suddenly became apprehensive, and Harry looked over her shoulder to Mr. Weasley, who came over and placed his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Mrs. Weasley, Ron’s gone.”

Molly’s face went white, and she pressed her hands to her mouth. Harry closed his eyes as her sobs began, unable to bear seeing her anguish after being the one to cause it. When he finally gained the strength to open his eyes again, he saw Molly sobbing in Arthur’s arms and Minerva comforting them both. The rest of the Weasley siblings had pale faces; Fleur was crying. Harry moved over to Bill and Charlie, who were standing together.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” It seemed ridiculous to say that, completely insufficient – but was there anything that could adequately express the grief and guilt that filled him?

Charlie nodded, reaching out and embracing Harry. When they broke apart, Harry said, “I have to go – Hermione’s hurt, and I still have a few tasks to finish. I took care of Ron as best I could. Minerva knows where he is.”

Both brothers nodded their thanks, and Harry turned away. He made his way to the great phoenix that guarded the Headmaster’s office; it was leaning terribly and scarcely looked as if it would be capable of carrying him up.

“May I pass?” he asked hesitatingly. He had no idea what the password was, if there was one at all. The phoenix nodded, although it did not rotate, and Harry carefully climbed up into the office that still reminded him of Dumbledore.

The portraits began to clap for him as he entered, but Harry immediately threw up his hands.

“Stop, please!” he said in desperation. He fixed his eyes on the portrait of Dumbledore, which was gazing at him gratefully and crying as well. “Dumbledore…”

In a brief conversation, Harry revealed the fate of the Resurrection Stone, which had been lost in the forest, and his intention to leave it there permanently. Dumbledore concurred with the idea and also approved of Harry’s decision to put the Elder Wand back with Dumbledore’s body, there to stay until Harry himself died. Harry repaired his old wand of holly and phoenix feather, grateful to feel the warmth in his hand that had become second nature when he was holding his own wand. Exchanging words of love and thanks with the man who had been like his grandfather as well as his mentor, Harry left as quickly as he could. His made his way to Dumbledore’s tomb, where he placed the Elder Wand in the lifeless hands of the old headmaster and carefully repaired the marble tomb with a wave of his wand. The tomb would have to be more fully protected, and soon, but it could wait.

Utterly exhausted, Harry focused his mind on Hermione and St. Mungo’s and turned back to the castle, making his way to the headmaster’s office once again. On his way through the halls he noticed some of the healers from St. Mungo’s working on the wounded; they were as quick as the healer had promised him. Standing in Dumbledore’s fireplace, he left with a WOOSH and was back at St. Mungo’s in a matter of minutes. The same healer was still at Hermione’s bedside; Harry noticed that her name was Pansy. Harry couldn’t imagine anyone more different from Pansy Parkinson. This witch was perhaps in her fifties, kind and efficient without being too brisk.

“How is she?” he asked. Harry scarcely recognized his own voice; it was rough and scratchy with weariness and worry.

“Still in a coma, but she is stable,” Pansy replied.  “Her heart is steady, and we are working on healing her internal injuries. She should be fine physically in a few days, but we’ll have to wait and see if she wakes up. Without knowing precisely what struck her, it is hard to know what might have happened to her brain that would be keeping her in this state.”

Harry nodded. “May I stay with her?” he asked. “Her – her parents aren’t here in England, but I can start trying to find them tomorrow. I don’t want her to be alone.”

Pansy took in Harry’s haggard appearance, his exhaustion, his grief, and most of all, his heartache when he looked at the young woman lying in the bed. She shook her head and smiled in sympathy.

“Mr. Potter,” she said softly, “you have just saved the entire wizarding world from the greatest threat it has ever faced. I hardly think anyone will ask you to leave, if you desire to stay.” Pansy reached into a cupboard next to Hermione’s bed and brought out an extra blanket, which she handed to Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry said gratefully.

Pansy smiled again, nodded, and left, leaving Harry alone with Hermione. He looked at her for a moment, then took off his shoes and curled up next to her on the bed, putting his arm carefully across her body.

“I’m back, Hermione, just as I promised,” he whispered. “I have to go find your parents for you, but after that I won’t leave you again. I’ll be here every moment until you wake up. Come back to me.”

Pulling the blanket over him, Harry fell asleep almost instantly, still holding Hermione close.

* * *

 

Hermione opened her eyes, then immediately squinted them against the glare. Everything was white, so white, and she could hardly bear the brightness at first. As her eyes adjusted, she gradually discerned a figure standing not too far away from her. He was tall, with flaming red hair, and before she could really see his face, Hermione scrambled up and flung herself at him.

“Ron!” she cried. He caught her in his arms and swung her around, laughing. She was breathless when he set her back on her feet.

“Hello, Hermione,” Ron said, still laughing as she looked at him. Her look of happiness abruptly became a glare, and Ron knew enough to throw his arms up in order to ward off the blows that were suddenly raining on his body.

“Ronald Weasley, don’t you ever do that to me again, you brave, heroic, stupid, brainless, reckless _git_!” Hermione said furiously, slapping every inch of him that she could reach. “How could you just jump in front of an _Avada Kedavra_ curse like that? How could you!?”

With an effort, Ron caught her hands and looked her in the eyes.

“To save you, Hermione. To save your life, and to save Harry.”

Hermione stepped back, narrowing her eyes. “Wait a moment. If you did it to save me, why are we both dead? And what does this have to do with Harry?”

“ _I’m_ dead, Hermione,” Ron said emphatically. “As for you, that remains to be seen.”

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “What do you mean, remains to be seen? We’re here, aren’t we?”

Ron sighed; this was harder to explain to her than he had thought.

“Hermione, I’m here because you have to make a choice. You can stay or go back, and it’s up to you. I’m here because I know things that might help you make that decision, but the ultimate choice is yours.”

“So if I stay, I’ll be – dead?” Hermione whispered. “And if I go back, you will be?” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, trying to understand.

“I am dead, Hermione,” Ron said tenderly, taking her hands again. “Nothing can change that now. I gave my life to save yours. I’m not sorry. We knew what we were getting into with this fight; we all knew every minute that we might die. Harry died and came back the night he killed Voldemort; you now have the same choice that he did – although he had a different advisor,” Ron said with a slight grin.

“I don’t understand, Ron,” Hermione said in frustration.  “If I’m not dead and you are, why am I here? Why am I talking to you?”

“Hermione, your body is in a coma,” Ron explained. “I came because I could wake up your mind, find the part of you that is willing to move on, but your body has been in a coma since we were hit with the curse. While the killing curse hit me and not you, it still managed to put you between living and dying. Your soul did the rest; part of you is held to life and part of you is here. You can go back or go on, but you have to decide.”

Hermione’s eyes had widened as Ron gave his explanation. “But you’re dead,” she said, her voice breaking. She began to cry, looking at him. He was whole and speaking, somehow living in this otherworldly nothingness that was strangely beautiful. “I love you. Why would I want to go back?”

Ron enclosed her in a hug. Holding her tightly, he planted a kiss in her hair. He was beginning to see that this might be a lengthy conversation; Hermione’s own mental barriers were making this harder. “For Harry,” he answered.

Hermione moved away from him again, crossing her arms. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Harry in this conversation, Ronald,” she said sharply. “I ask you again, what does he have to do with this? We didn’t get to see him defeat Voldemort, but I know he did. He couldn’t fail; it isn’t possible. Beyond the fact that I simply have too much faith in him to believe that he would fail, he isn’t here talking to me, so I assume he is still living. How does your sacrifice to save me have anything to do with Harry?”

Ron took out his wand and waved it, creating two large and comfy stuffed chairs in the white space.  “Come here,” he said, pulling Hermione over to a chair. She sat in one while he sat in the other, and he took her hands.

“Right, then,” he said. “Do you remember what Harry told us about what Lily did to save him? Why it protects him?”

“Her love protects him,” Hermione said. “She sacrificed herself out of love for him. It is one of the deepest forms of magic there is.”

“I threw myself in front of you to give you the same kind of protection,” Ron said quietly. “It’s why you are in a coma right now, and not simply dead.”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks again.

“But that isn’t all, Hermione,” Ron said, taking a breath. “I knew something else when I stepped in front of that curse.”

Hermione’s expression was sober and full of concentration; Ron could tell she was struggling to see where he was going.

“I knew,” Ron continued, his voice still quiet, “that Harry was in love with you.”

Hermione became perfectly still, her features shocked. She stared at Ron without speaking, her face white.

“I knew that if you died, it was entirely possible that Harry would not survive it,” Ron kept on. “After everything he has been through, everything he has sacrificed and suffered, it might very well kill him to lose you, Hermione, or at the very least make him turn his back on everything that he is. It would destroy him in a way that a thousand battles with Voldemort could not destroy him. He knows his own strengths; he knows Voldemort’s weaknesses. He knows that it is his place to defend the wizarding world with everything he has been taught and given. Whatever evil comes along next, he can face it knowing who and what he is. He would lose that certainty, without you.”

Hermione kept looking at him, and Ron could see the pain in her eyes, the slow realization of what he was saying.

“He doesn’t fear death for himself, not anymore,” Ron said. “When he went into the forest he went willingly, to save all the rest of us. But he still fears your death. He still feared death for both of us, but especially for you. Can you leave him alone, without either of us, after all of this?”

Hermione’s hands had gone slack in his, and as he squeezed them tightly, she finally spoke. She almost managed to sound like the logical Hermione he knew, but her voice was a little too shaky.

“Leaving aside for a minute the idea that Harry would be so different if I wasn’t there,” she began, and Ron knew from the slight bit of steel in her voice that she wasn’t ready to talk about that, not yet, “how do you know that he – l-loves me?” She stumbled a bit over the last phrase; it was so hard to say it aloud.

“He told me himself,” Ron said simply. “When we were in the forest destroying Slytherin’s locket. He saw that I was afraid of losing you to him; those bits of Voldemort have an uncanny way of projecting your worst fears back to you,” he added wryly. “He saw what I saw, and he told me that he loved you, but that he knew we loved each other.”

Hermione put her face in her hands. “He never said anything,” she whispered. “I never saw so much as a look.”

Ron made a sound that was suspiciously close to a snort, and suddenly he was much more himself, much more the earthly Ron that Hermione was used to, rather than the omniscient being he seemed to have become.

“Come _on_ , Hermione,” he said bluntly. “Use that brain of yours that we’re so used to depending on. This is Harry we’re talking about. Harry, who tried to keep us both safe almost from the moment we met him. He couldn’t keep us from helping him, but that was thanks to our combined stubbornness over his. Harry, who never feels he deserves anything because he’s had so much taken away from him. Harry, who would rather be miserable himself than see either of us unhappy, who would rather die for us than have either of us be hurt. Do you suppose he would ever, ever disrupt our relationship if he knew we wanted to be together?”

“No,” Hermione whispered.

“Exactly,” Ron said triumphantly, with the old smirk on his features.

“But then why did he tell you?” Hermione said. “Why then, in the forest?”

Ron’s face became solemn again. “He thought he was going to die, Hermione,” he pointed out. “I think he sensed, even then, that it would come to that, even though he hadn’t yet worked out all of the pieces that Dumbledore left for him. He thought he was going to die, and he wasn’t going to lie to me about how he felt. He wanted me to know that he loved us both. He wanted me to protect you and keep you safe, rather than worry about him. He was doing his best to give his blessing to our relationship because he wasn’t going to live to see it happen. He wanted us to have a life together.”

Hermione shook her head, and Ron could see the hurt in her eyes. “He could have told me. If he knew that he was – going to - ” She couldn’t quite say it; the word stuck in her throat.

“He didn’t want you to feel guilty, Hermione, especially not if he died. He knew you would be grieving already; he didn’t want guilt added to that. He wanted you to be happy. On the slight chance that he did come back, he didn’t want you to be burdened with his feelings. You figured out most of it, anyway; you knew he was a Horcrux before he told us he was going to meet Volmedort.”

Hermione didn’t have a reply to that; she simply bowed her head in acknowledgement.

 “Besides,” Ron continued pointedly, “he _did_ tell you, just not in ways that you saw or heard.”

Hermione lifted her face from her hands and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Ron smiled; now they were getting to it. He waved his wand again, and what looked like a large Pensieve appeared at their feet.

“This shows many memories, not just the ones you pour into it,” Ron explained. “It’s one of the advantages of being here and being able to see pretty much anything,” he added playfully. “I want to show you some of Harry’s memories. Care for a little adventure?”

Hermione bit her lip, looking uneasily at the shimmering surface. “This feels wrong, Ron. We can’t just – _invade_ Harry’s mind this way. That makes us no better than Snape or Voldemort!”

Ron reached over and gently cupped her face in his hands. “Intent matters, Hermione. For one thing, Harry will never know, anymore than McGonagall would know if I felt like watching her teach Transfiguration. For another, we are his friends. We aren’t doing this to change anything, or to be malicious in any way. We _can’t_. We can only watch. It’s exactly like a Pensieve in that way.”

Ron saw the conflict in Hermione’s face, and he leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Can you decide now, this moment, what you want to do?” he asked, looking at her intently.

Hermione paused, then shook her head slowly. “No,” she whispered.

“All right then,” Ron said decisively. “Just think of this as Harry’s part in helping you to decide.”

With that, he knelt down by the large basin, tugging Hermione down with him. Taking a long, steadying breath, Hermione plunged her head into the water with Ron, keeping a tight hold on his hand as she did so.

 


End file.
